


Thumb in my Holster

by strokemyplumage (girlfromcarolina)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Leather Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/strokemyplumage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, in which Tony wears that holster home and Tim has something to say about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thumb in my Holster

**Author's Note:**

> I went out and bought the S7 DVDs, watched one episode, and this happened. I guess I really did miss our guys. Also, I know Tony's holster is more nylon, but just imagine Tim gave him a leather one for Christmas and had ulterior motives.

"Honey, I'm home!"

It's out of Tony's mouth before he can think twice. The McWife is not gonna be happy if he heard that. Tim would be twice as unhappy if he knew Tony was referring to him as _McWife_ in his head. Best to keep that on the down low then. Right.

And, technically, Tony's not home. This is Tim's place but there are no signs of life in the McDungeon. Tim's most expansive computer monitor is on screen-saver mode: ever-shifting fractal designs, not even a single hot beach babe for Tony to ogle. Tony may be a one-man Man these days, but that won't change the fact that Tim can't work a string bikini the same way those Sports Illustrated girls can; Tim lacks those hourglass hips, for one.

An empty chair is sacrificed so Tony can toss his bag down, laying his jacket on top of the pile. The light's on in the bedroom and Tony tries to temper the four-beer swagger in his stride when he walks in.

"Hey—"

"I'm not your honey."

Surly-Tim is not one of Tony's favorites—nowhere near his top three of Happy-Tim, Sexy-Tim, and Honest-Tim—but there's something endearing about the way Tim's trying too hard to make his expression serious. He's reclining on the bed in boxers, dress shirt open from waist to neck and a soft-looking tee peaking out from underneath. He looks comfy and Tony wants to occupy that equally comfy space right next to him.

"I thought you were staying out longer," Tim's saying, closing the cover on his Kindle and setting it aside. His eyes are soft, brows relaxed.

"Didn't want to wake you up when I came in." Tony toes off his shoes and sets them alongside Tim's shoes by the closet. "The party was breaking up anyway, so why not make it an early night?"

Tim folds his hands over his chest, pulls one foot up on the bed. He studies Tony for what feels like a full minute, and Tony's impatient because he really just wants to be on the bed, fingers in Tim's hair now that the gel's been washed out, and then they could do some _serious_ making out. But something holds him away.

"You called me McWife in your head, didn't you?"

"Of course not." It's weird how Tim always knows. Maybe there's some implant Tim invented that sends his thoughts directly to Tim's iPhone in convenient little text messages. Explains how Tim always seems to know when Tony's in the mood for using—

"And now you're thinking about sex."

"I—yeah." Freaky. "But, in my defense, when am I not thinking about sex?"

That doesn't even earn him a _touché_ ; Tim comes up off the bed and he's suddenly a hell of a lot closer. Forced against the bedroom wall, Tony feels the tug of his holster—sans weapon—across his shoulders and under his arms. Tim's eyes focus on the leather straps cutting down Tony's collarbones. One little twitch of his eye and Tony knows.

"Ha!" Tony laughs. "Now you're thinking about sex, too."

"A little hard not to when you're wearing this," Tim says, fingers drifting casually up Tony's sides, nudging beneath the tight straps.

"Forgot to take it off before I got to the bar."

"You must be getting sore after wearing it all day."

Agreeing would clearly not be the right move, Tony considers, but that's as far as he gets to think before Tim yanks him forward by the straps and kisses him.

If the quick-shot of the kiss is the starter's pistol, they've both done some pre-race work. Tony knew McGee would be waiting when he got here tonight and that was enough to rev his engine, but Tim's packing too, dick thickening where he's practically riding Tony's thigh.

Tony opens his eyes, tilting deeper into the kiss. Tim's skin is creamy, splotches of pink coming to the surface of his cheeks, with a few light freckles that developed this week after they'd logged so many hours outdoors on their latest case. The freckles are a turn-on, Tony's libido agrees, and he pictures his tongue finding its way between each dot on Tim's skin—some on his face, others spread down his throat.

Tim leans away from the kiss, fingers still caught around Tony's holster, an anchor he's using to grind them together, moving Tony just the way he wants him.

"I don't think this is a regulation use."

"I thought you liked breaking rules," Tim says. Tony can hear _and_ feel the smirk even though Tim's mouth is warm and open, making nice with the angle of Tony's jaw.

"When it's necessary." Tony struggles. "Or when I'm getting something out of it." That sounds better. "Am I gonna get something out of it?"

Tim's lips ghost up to his ear, biting the tip and whispering a single command.

"Turn around."

He shivers in what he hopes is a manly, excited way, but Tim's already undoing his belt and zipper, shoving his jeans and underwear down past his hips. Quite a feat—Tim's obviously accomplishing this entirely one-handed since his left is pawing around Tony's chest, curling around a leather strap.

"Oh yeah, I'm definitely getting something out of this." 

It might be the shoulder holster's fault but Tony is on-board with any kind of sex Tim wants to have with him. All the better when McGeek turns into McGrowly, using his hold on Tony to rock his dick against the back of Tony's naked thigh. Tim can't nudge his way past Tony's shirt collar and settles for nosing along the nape of his neck, angling Tony further towards the wall.

The way Tim's fingering the leather is on the good side of kinky, keeping his touch on the textured strap instead of on Tony. He leaves shaded, half-moon dents where his nails dig in and hold.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you like the leather so much," Tony teases. He remembers saying something similar after Tim used two of Tony's belts to spread-eagle his legs on one adventurous Saturday morning. Then there was the time Tim's leather chair came into play and Tony would _love_ to have a repeat of that performance.

Tim drops his arm but Tony's freedom is only temporary. Ten seconds and Tim returns with the lubricant, squeezing enough on his fingers and setting the bottle on the dresser. His boxers are gone; Tony only feels the cotton of Tim's t-shirt pressed along his back.

Left hand continuing to tighten and manipulate the holster, the fingers of Tim's right work to open Tony, leaving little room for adjustment between fingers one-two-three. The beer fuzzing Tony's brain makes it easier for him to spread his legs, get leverage with his knees and ride down on Tim's fingers.

"C'mon, Tony," Tim urges, dick lubed up and at the ready. Tony has to relax and fight the burn of arousal and penetration, finally sinking into the cradle of Tim's hips.

The straps mimic the weight and touch of two extra hands pulling down on Tony's shoulders, as if Tim's got a grip on him everywhere. Not a bad idea—Handsy-Tim is right up there in the top ten—and Tony pushes back harder.

Tony sets the angle but Tim's got the reigns in hand, controlling the pace. 

"Afraid I'm gonna run away?" Tony snarks, responding to the short, fast thrusts of Tim inside him.

"Like you'd ever want to get away from this, Tony." Tim's voice is diabolical and confident like a villain who knows his scheme's going to go off without a hitch.

Their bodies can't get any closer together, Tim's belly right up in the lower curve of Tony's spine and he can feel every drop of sweat running down under his shirt. Wrapped up in a cocoon that's hotter-than-hot, Tim guiding Tony back by the holster's straps, running his hands under Tony's arms following the curve of the leather around to Tony's back.

There's an awkward shuffle of feet and suddenly Tony's bent further towards the wall, muscles funneling the strain right back into his groin. He's not as flexible as he used to be and maybe he really does need to take up yoga or something, but Tim's free hand comes for a reach-around and Tony stops caring.

Tim's jerking him off too quickly and too forcefully but his crank's already been wound. Just the grip is enough to set off Tony's orgasm and he comes messily over Tim's hand and his own legs.

He could hang uselessly off of Tim's dick like his energy's just been completely fucked out of him, but it's much more rewarding to make Tim lose it spectacularly. And the one thing that never gets tired is Tony's mouth.

"Next time..." he pants, "we'll lose the rest of the clothes and you can have me in just the holster." Tim's rhythm stutters and his next hip-punch has Tony's dick taking a renewed interest. "How 'bout that, huh? Maybe on all fours on the bed and you can ride me however you want. Then you could see the marks from the leather all over—"

Then it really is _all over_ as Tim groans and starts coming. Tony's hidden grin is nothing if not self-satisfied.

After a minute, Tony leans back in Tim's hold, combined weight sending them back-footing to the bed where they collapse and separate on impact.

"You need to stop wearing the holster to the office."

"Mmm, no," Tony yawns, stretching and wriggling his way up to the head of the bed. "I like the side effects."

Tim slides up next to him and Tony's earlier thought was correct. The bed _is_ deliciously comfy. 

"But every time I see you in it, I'm gonna think about this and remember, and then Gibbs is always watching like—"

"Take that thought any further and no more happy times for you, McPerv." Tony keeps his voice light and kisses the knob of Tim's shoulder, a gesture he's repeated so many times like the ritual of a post-coital cigarette. Tim hasn't commented on it yet—a little secret Tony enjoys keeping.

Shucking his tee, Tim gets fully naked and stretches, the slight round of his belly so tempting if Tony weren't well on his way to some very sweet dreams. Milky skin he could really sink his teeth into; Tim's hands in his hair and around his neck; Tony able to feel it in his entire body when Tim speaks or laughs. 

Tony's yawn puts a damper on those thoughts and he tries to kick off his now-wrinkled jeans and underwear.

"A little help here?"

Tim gets him out of the holster, dropping it beside the bed. Tony's shirts get thrown towards the laundry basket, falling a little short.

"I'll grab a towel," Tim says, noticing the leftover smears of come on Tony's stomach and upper thighs.

Tony rolls towards Tim's side of the bed when he gets up. "Aw, you're the best little McW—"

Tim stops in the bathroom door and wags his finger completely unmenacingly.

"Say it, and I'll fuck you again."

Tony smirks.

" _McWife_."

 

FIN.


End file.
